


Unreal

by sunalso



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Plot Twist, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AtS S5. AU. Angel got the girl. Spike has been living with the fact that Buffy, even after all they'd been through, chose her first love over him. He's about to leave town for good, but he needs to remind her one last time just how much he loves her. Can a single conversation make a difference?Beta'd by the really wonderful Gort.Posted on AO3 and EF ONLY.





	Unreal

**Author's Note:**

> Small Note: Slightly AU second half of ATS S5- no Circle of Black Thorn looming, Fred is still Fred, and Lindsey must be off doing something else because he's not pretending to be Doyle here.

And all of what I feel I could show

                -Nelly Furtado, “Say It Right”

****

Why the buggering fuck did Angel make him go to Wolfram and Hart to collect assignments?

Tossing open his apartment’s door, Spike threw the packet of papers on his kitchen table. He’d look at them later when his head wasn’t spinning.

It was a bit of a rhetorical question. He had no doubt as to why Angel wanted Spike to have to walk through the less than hallowed halls of the law firm: Angel wanted to show off. He wanted to rub Spike’s nose in the fact that Angel had gotten the bloody girl.

Buffy had chosen the overgrown git, for whatever reason. He hadn’t even been able to talk to her to find out why. Angel had said she was very appreciative of Spike’s sacrifice but wanted nothing to do with him now. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Surely, she could at least rip his heart out in person, but on the few occasions he’d caught her eye, her face had hardened and she’d immediately turned away. It was a sodding stake to the heart every time.

It wasn’t like he was unaware that he was more or less a waste of space, but she didn’t need to underline it quite so emphatically.

He opened the fridge door and stared at the Styrofoam cups of blood, but he wasn’t hungry. His stomach felt like lead and he let the door thump shut before leaning against it.

It might help if Buffy didn’t look so damn happy every time he saw her, full of smiles for everyone but him. The rest of Angel’s gang said she was incredibly fun to be around: perky, spunky, and full of laughter. Being in a relationship with Angel had apparently been the thing she’d wanted most in life.

But Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph, couldn’t she have given him the courtesy of telling him to his face that her words to him as the hellmouth had come tumbling down had been so much nonsense? He might have told her as much when he was dying, but he had been trying to spare her the feeling that someone else she loved was leaving her. He’d bloody believed what she’d said.

Savagely, he kicked his boots off so they whacked one after the other into the wall and sat down on the side of his bed. He rubbed at his eyes.

Like every other time he was at the firm, he’d seen her today. She’d been in a glass walled conference room, one Angel had probably chosen because he knew Spike would have to walk by it to grab the packet of information on his next case from Harmony’s desk. As much as Spike detested the berk, Angel paid him actual money, which at least kept Spike in booze, smokes, and electricity.

He’d stopped dead as he’d walked by. Buffy had been standing, her back to him, talking animatedly to Angel’s gang about something. Her blonde hair had been loose around her shoulders and slightly curled. It’d gleamed, even under the institutional lights.

Spike lay down on his narrow bed and undid his belt buckle, warming up to do the only thing he’d wanted to since he’d seen her. She’d had a pink blouse on and a short, baby-blue pleated skirt, unlike anything he’d seen her wear for years. It’d shown off most of her tanned thighs, and he hadn’t been able to look away from the smooth expanse of her skin.

Groaning, Spike unbuttoned his jeans, lowered his zip, and hooked his thumbs in his waistband to push his pants to mid-thigh. He opened a half-used bottle of lube and squirted a dollop into his palm before fisting his semi-erect prick. He dumped the bottle back on his nightstand, settled his head on his pillow, and closed his eyes, returning to the images of Buffy. As if she’d known his eyes were on her, she’d leaned forward over the conference table and her criminally short skirt had ridden up even higher, giving him a flash of white cotton panties.

Spike frowned and his hand stopped moving, even though he was completely erect now.

Plain, virginal, white knickers weren’t Buffy’s style. Those had to be for Angel. She always had cute lace or silky things with bows and not very much fabric. He’d ripped enough pairs off of her to know.

Spike grimaced.

In reality, the scene itself had gone downhill after that flash of undies. Angel’s hand had landed on Buffy’s ass and his gaze had locked with Spike’s before Angel’s lips had quirked up into a smug little smile. The bastard. Spike had left very quickly without a backwards glance.

Sighing, Spike rewound back to when Buffy first leaned over the table. Time to make this a proper fantasy. He got rid of everyone else in the room, so it was just him, Buffy, and the conference table. He was already naked and when she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at him, she licked her lips.

He walked up behind her and slid his hands down her arms, linking his fingers with hers as he breathed in her beloved scent and ground his cock against her ass.

“Spike, please…” Her plea was a breathy moan. He pressed her palms to the table and slid them forward, his body staying tight against hers as she bent over the polished surface. When her breasts were pressed flat against the table he slowly straightened back up, trailing his fingers over her as he stood. His hands caressed her perfect rear before delving under her skirt. In his imagination, she was wearing what he preferred her to beneath a skirt…nothing at all.

“Please, Spike, I want you,” Buffy gasped as his fingers played over her pussy. She was wet as hell, ready and aching for him. Never one to deny a lady, he slammed his prick into her, sheathing himself completely in one thrust.

Spike's hips jerked up off the bed and his hand tightened around his cock. He tried to make his fingers mimic the actions of her inner muscles, but it was impossible. Fucking his fist was no substitute for her warm, soft channel and its fierce, demanding grip or the way she could make those muscles pulse and flutter. But his hand was all he had. All he would ever have, now that she was with…

He returned to his fantasy-Buffy, who wanted him very much. He worked her hard and fast, her mewls and little gasps a symphony he never tired of. When his peak started to creep closer he pulled out of her–his hand stilled on his cock–and turned her around. She scrambled up on the table and he followed, their mouths fused hungrily together.

He rammed himself inside her again and she wrapped her legs snugly around his waist. Meeting him thrust for thrust, her body quickly tightened up and her head dropped back onto the table. Her lips parted and her brows drew together. It was an expression he existed to give to her. Her eyes opened and looked up into his. “I love you,” she whispered as she came, her pussy milking his cock.

“Love you too,” Spike gasped raggedly as he climaxed. For a few blissful seconds, he was able to continue imagining he was deeply buried in the haven of Buffy’s body, but then cold reality set in. Spike opened his eyes to the yellowed walls of his apartment, alone, with his come drying on his hand and stomach.

Pain blossomed in his chest. He used the sheet to wipe himself off and sat up, his head in his hands and his shoulders hunched. Buffy didn’t love him. He was a fool. The same fool as always, the one that loved her so desperately he couldn’t tell up from down. All that emotion, the vast sea of it, beat at his mind incessantly, threatening to once more drown him.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t be in the same city as her, couldn’t see her fawning over Angel. One of these times Angel was going to contrive a way for Spike to walk in on him shagging Buffy, and if Spike heard her cry out her love for someone else, then it’d all be over. He’d walk right into the sun’s embrace. He knew very, very well that to see someone you love physically being with someone else was a torture unlike any other. He’d lived through it with Drusilla, but with Buffy...the shattered pieces of his heart swirled and he groaned with the renewed pain, pressing a hand to his chest as if that would help.

He was a wreck. His soul was upset. Buffy wouldn’t like him wanking to thoughts of her. She’d made her choice and Spike needed to respect that. He’d never been worthy of her, so he shouldn’t be surprised when the little light she’d cast his way had been switched off now that she could be with Angel. Peaches was her soulmate, the love of her life, her always and forever. Spike had been a cheap stand in.

A soft wail left his throat. Knowing that shite didn’t make it hurt any less. The man in him was aching with sadness. He was glad he was alone most of the time so that no one knew how much he cried in loneliness and desperation.

And under everything, lurked the demon. It clawed at his psyche and roared its frustration because it didn’t understand. Buffy belonged to him. It knew that with an unwavering certainty. The world without her was wrong and it wouldn’t rest until she had returned to his arms. Spike was unable to squash that determination. It was what was keeping him in L.A. The demon’s absolute belief that Buffy was his girl, all evidence to the contrary.

It was lunacy. It was driving him around the bloody bend.

He had to leave. Now. Head to anywhere that wasn’t here, but first he had to put this thing with Buffy to rest or he’d never even make it to the state line. He needed to hear, from her own lips, that she didn’t care for him and that he was nothing to her. He wouldn’t stop loving her, and he needed to tell her that, but saying it and seeing nothing in her eyes in return should be enough for him to move on, as much as he ever would.

There had to be some girl out there that would love him for who he was and not who she wished he could be. Spike knew he was broken, that he wouldn’t be able to give this girl the entirety of what she deserved, but he could do his best. Under his skin his demon seethed, it screamed that Buffy was its girl. Its only girl.

Christ. Spike rubbed his eyes and then picked up the phone on his nightstand and dialed Fred’s office.

“Hello! Wolfram & Hart, Fred speaking.”

Spike had known she’d still be at her desk. “Hey, it’s Spike. I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead…and are you okay? You sound lower than a snake’s belly in a wheel rut.”

“Not really. I can’t…I can’t stay here anymore. I love her, Fred, and it's killing me. I need to see her before I leave. To hear her say she’s done with me. I know she’s happy and in love with Angel, but I don’t think I can move on until I talk to her myself.”

Fred sighed. “She’s been pretty vocal about not wanting to have anything to do with you.”

“I know,” he whispered. A fresh wave of agony went through him. “But I need her to say it to me. I need the closure.”

“I understand.” The pity in Fred’s voice was unmistakable. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. “Look, it wasn’t me that told you this, but Buffy’s usually up early. She comes down around six in the morning and gets Angel’s office, papers, and blood ready for him.”

“What?” Spike was having a hard time imagining her being so wifey. Or maybe he was just having a hard time imagining her doing it for him. “Really?”

“Is that surprising?” Fred sounded slightly distracted and he heard the shuffling of papers.

“She’s about as much a morning person as I am.” Buffy before coffee was a bear even he knew better than to poke. Well, except that if he was routinely waking up in the morning beside her she would actually be a very well poked bear before morning coffee…he shook his head. Impossible dreams.

“I guess things change,” Fred said.

“Guess they do.” He rubbed his temple. “Thanks, Fred. You’ve been a real friend. I’m honored to have met you.”

“T-thank you. Wish you were riding off into the sunset under better circumstances.”

“Me too.”

“Goodbye, Spike.”

Setting down the phone’s receiver into its cradle felt very final. He was really leaving. The demon was panicking at the thought of being away from Buffy, but he was able to ignore it. His blasted soul was good for something.

****

Inside the overly luxurious lobby of Wolfram & Hart, Spike smoothed down the lapels of his duster. He knew he was being ridiculous, but after packing his meager belongings and putting them in the boot of the car with nicrotinted glass he was currently ‘borrowing’ from the law firm–a black early 80s Crown Vic that made it look like he should be taking a road trip with John Belushi–Spike had spent the rest of the night getting ready to see Buffy one last time. It wasn’t like sleeping had been an option. He’d briefly checked over the case Angel had given him, but it was just tracking down some low level drug dealer. The guy wasn’t even a demon. The cops had just as much chance of nabbing the git as Spike did, so he wasn’t worried about leaving it unfinished.

Spike had made sure his boots were shining, his duster was as clean as possible, his jeans and t-shirt were wrinkle free, and his hair was carefully gelled into place. He’d even dug out the bottle of black polish he’d bought on a whim and done his nails, which he hadn’t bothered with in ages.

It was bleeding silly of him, but he wanted to look his best. She’d thought him good looking enough at some point and he wanted her last image of him not to be of the sad creature he knew he’d become.

Inside, he was still a mess. He longed to hear her voice, even if she was cutting him down. His soul was still brassed off and letting him know this wasn’t exactly right, since Buffy had told numerous people she wanted nothing to do with him, but this wasn’t just about Buffy. He needed this. The goodbye was for him, not her.

The bloody demon was, of course, nearly beside itself with excitement. They were minutes away from seeing its girl and it was sure Buffy was going to want Spike to push her up against the nearest wall and shag the hell out of her. No amount of wallowing in self-pity or stern rebukes from the soul could convince it otherwise. The damn thing was doing a sodding happy dance and its urging to hurry was making Spike antsy.

He hoped Buffy putting him in his place would silence it.

With one last deep breath, that he let out slowly, Spike hit the elevator button and rode up to the floor that Angel’s office was on. The conference room from yesterday was dark and empty, though the sight of the large table made something flicker in his gut. He squished it. No matter what his demon thought, sex had nothing to do with this moment.

Walking down the hallway, he nearly stumbled over his own feet as he watched Buffy come down a set of stairs. She apparently hadn’t sensed him at all, as she didn’t turn in his direction. Once again, she was wearing an outfit she wouldn’t have been caught dead in after her junior year of high school: a white halter top and micromini green skirt. It was impossible for him not to admire the way it clung to her curves. She even had chunky sandals on her feet.

Spike followed her into Angel’s office. She was humming a pop song and arranging papers on Angel’s desk.

“Hello, cutie,” he rumbled.

Startled, she looked up. It seemed to take a few seconds for her to place him. “Spike, the other vampire. I am not supposed to talk to you. Please go away.”

Spike’s eyebrow shot up. Not supposed to talk to him? “Look, pet, whatever Peaches bloody told you about me, it’s probably wrong. I’m just about to nip out of town, for good, and I wanted to see you one last time.”

Buffy tilted her head to the side. “You have now seen me. Please go away. I will tell Angel you have left.” Her eyes went back to the desk, dismissing him as she tidied a pile of papers.

He was dumbfounded. Years of dancing between them, in both hate and love–at least on his part–and this was all he got? Even his demon was at a loss. It was whining and the sound leaked out. This was impossible, he wasn’t just going to be tossed aside like so much rubbish.

“Now see here. I came to tell you that I still love you, Buffy, that I will always love you!”

She looked up at him with eyes placid as a cow’s as he rounded the desk and put a hand on her bicep.

“I know you don’t…” He trailed off. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. He knew Buffy’s face better than his own. Every single tiny imperfection. He loved every millimeter. The face he was looking at wasn’t her face. It was flawless. Every pore exactly the same size and none of her tiny scars. He’d spent hours kissing those scars, on her face and elsewhere, one night when she’d been in the mood to be loved and not just fucked.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, and her scent, that he treasured, memorized, and dreamed of, was absent. She smelled faintly of plastic. She smelled like…

He let her go and backed up. “You’re not Buffy, you’re the bot. Oh, Christ. I don’t know how Angel did it, but the bloody wanker did.”

The robot looked confused. “I am Buffy. Angel says so. He loves me and I love him.” Her lips pursed. “I do not like you.”

Spike laughed. “I should think not.” His mind was racing. It wasn’t Buffy. It wasn’t sodding Buffy. It hadn’t been her that wouldn’t speak to him, or her that had turned away whenever he’d so much as dared to look at her. It was Angel’s idea of what Buffy should be.

“You should go away. Angel will be here soon and he will be mad if he sees me talking to you. Then I will have to say I am sorry and he will want to spank me later and tell me I’m a naughty girl, but that he can make me good again.”

Bloody hell, there was enough of Angel’s psychological baggage in that statement that even Freud would need several lifetimes to parse it out. Only Spike didn’t give a shit what was wrong with Angel’s mind. There was hope. Buffy was somewhere, he just had to find her.

He opened his mouth to ask the bot if it knew, but at that moment, Angel, along with Gunn, Wes, Lorne, and a very tired looking Fred, walked through the door.

“I didn’t let him in! And I told him to leave,” the robot immediately said as everyone stopped in their tracks.

“Some reason you’re bothering Buffy?” Gunn asked, but it was Angel Spike was staring at. The git looked like he was frantically trying to figure a way out of this mess.

“It’s not Buffy,” Spike said.

“Spike, I think maybe we should go have a chat, I could use some coffee after the all-nighter I pulled.” Fred sounded like she’d thought he’d cracked.

“Please go away,” the bot begged.

“Look, Spike.” Gunn held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I know you had a thing with Buffy, but she’s really over you and if you care about her at all you’ll let her be.”

“I’m not going to let her “be”, not once I know where she bleeding is. Any ideas, Angel?”

Angel growled. “You’ll stay away from her!”

“Spike, we can talk this out.” Wes' voice was steady and calming. “I know you haven’t been okay, but respecting Buffy’s wishes–“

“I’ll fucking respect her wishes when it’s Buffy that tells me them!” Spike roared. He’d had it.

“Why don’t you think that’s Buffy?” Lorne asked. He was leaning against the wall, his suit an unusual-for-him subdued gray. “It looks like her.” There was something in his tone that let Spike know Lorne had been having suspicions of his own, but it was clear he hadn’t guessed the truth.

“You lot think I’m off my rocker,” Spike said. “Poor Spike, finally cracked. Couldn’t handle seeing the girl he loves with someone else, but the joke’s on you.” He darted forward and wrapped his hand around the robot’s head. He felt for and found the seam where its fake skin was attached to the back of its scalp. Everyone was shouting and the bot was trying to push him off, but it was nowhere near as strong as it should have been. Not even enough strength to equal Buffy’s. Angel probably liked it that way, he got to feel all manly.

Spike worked his fingers into the seam and yanked. The skin easily peeled away from the underlying structures, just like it was designed to do for easy maintenance. He pulled it completely off the thing’s head, exposing the wires and fake muscles underneath, just as Gunn’s fist met his cheek. Spike staggered sideways but only grinned and pointed. The look of surprise on Gunn’s face was comical.

“What the heck?” Fred asked, her voice shrill. The bot blinked and tilted its head, the rubber muscles and sinews adjusting themselves.

“It’s a robot.” Spike straightened up and brushed imaginary dirt off his duster. Angel’s expression was outraged. “Your boss must have found the bits and pieces and had it reconstructed.”

“Want to tell them who originally had it made?” Angel snarled.

“Oh.” Spike shrugged. “I did. Didn’t think Buffy would ever give me the time of day. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. I didn’t have it long before the scoobies found out, even though they were never supposed to know about it. Meant it to be my own private shame.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Also, I was soulless at the time. And I certainly didn’t use it to fool my friends or, say, psychologically torment my own bloody family.”

Angel was fuming and the rest of his gang was staring at the berk like they’d never seen him before. With a sigh, Spike looked heavenward. The bot was just standing there, not moving.

“Let me guess,” Spike finally said into the silence. “You found the parts in the Sunnydale crater, well, not you personally, but someone working for Wolfram & Hart. On a lark, you had it fixed up, probably with the intention of having a little fun at my expense. Only, once you had her up and running, you liked her too much. A Buffy you can control. One that is always smiling, never asks for anything, and will do whatever you’ll say. It’s all you ever dreamed of. And since she’s just the bot, there’s no chance of your soul slipping away. How am I doing?”

Angel’s face was a mask of fury.

Spike chuckled. “Looks like I’m dead on. So you have perpetually perky Buffy at your beck and call, and I suppose torturing me was just a fun extra bonus.”

Gunn looked disgusted. “Shit…sorry, Spike, about the punch. I can’t…Angel, I heard you fucking that thing. I-I just can’t.” He walked out of the office, shaking his head.

“Don’t know how you can even touch it, not after having the real thing,” Spike said. “Didn’t matter, much, before I knew how she really looked and felt in my hands. It was me that wasn’t real until Buffy…until she saw me.” He paused, taking a breath in and letting it out as he got a handle on his emotions. “Where is she, Angel? Where’s Buffy?”

“I don’t remember,” Angel ground out.

“I do!” the bot cheerfully said, smiling grotesquely without its skin. “She’s in London! Remember?” It rattled off an address that seared itself into Spike’s brain. It’d be easier to forget his own name than those words and digits. He picked up the phone, punched in a number, and held it out to Angel.

“You’re chartering me a flight to Heathrow. Now. On the company plane. Then I’ll leave you to the mercies of your friends. Enjoy!”

Angel snatched the phone from Spike but made the arrangements without arguing. Past the glaring and dark looks Angel was giving him, Spike could tell Angel was deeply embarrassed. Served him right, and knowing the git, he’d probably weasel his way out of this somehow.

As soon as Angel set the phone down, Spike pushed past him to the office’s open door. “You lot have a fun life. I’ll call you later, Fred, let you know how it goes.” Fred smiled at him. Lorne did as well and gave him a wave. “And don’t wait up,” Spike added, unable to suppress his grin. “Because I got a girl to see!”

His glee lasted until he was on the plane and headed towards London.

Would she be at that address? Would Angel have called and said anything to her? What if she really didn’t want to see him?

His demon was doing an internal version of an eyeroll and countering each doubt with a slew of pornographic pictures while his bloody soul was nitpicking about having to listen carefully to Buffy and abide by whatever decision she made.

To shut both parts up he fished a black eye liner pencil out of his luggage and carefully went to work.

****

It was her.

Spike had given the address to a cabby and the bloke had dropped him off at the end of the street. He’d arranged at the airport for his bag to be delivered the next day, not wanting to deal with it while he scoped out the house she was renting. Giles must be giving her a sweet salary to afford the place she was in.

Spike was hiding in some bushes like a complete tosser, watching her hug Dawn before the younger girl got into a cab. He wanted to meet with Dawn as well, but it needed to be later, after the shock of seeing Buffy had worn off a bit.

She was thin. Her hair, pulled up into a messy ponytail, looked duller than he remembered. She wore a bulky sweater in the cool night air and a loose skirt that would have looked more at home on Tara.

But it was Buffy. The slight breeze was carrying her scent to him, but beyond that, he just knew, with all his being, that it was her. His demon was trembling, unable to do anything else it was so awed by her presence.

She waved as the cab drove off, watching the tail lights recede. Leaving his hiding spot, he walked towards her back.

A stake dropped into her hand from somewhere up her sweater’s sleeve and she heaved a sigh. “Look, vampire,” she said without turning around.  “It’s been a long day and I’m seriously not feeling much like Slaying right now. I want to go inside, have a shower, and maybe a good cry before I sleep. Why don’t you run away and leave me alone, unless you just want to annoy me?”

A lopsided smile lifted his mouth. He always wanted to annoy her. He halted. “Hello, cutie.”

The stake clattered to the sidewalk. “Spike,” she whispered, not turning around.

He stepped forward and lifted his palms to hover over her shoulders. Her hands were slightly raised in front of her, like she’d started to reach for something but had stalled. Still not quite touching her, he ghosted his fingers down her arms. The heat of her body was tempting him and her scent was overwhelming. His hands reached hers and flattened out. She turned hers over, paused, then laced her fingers with his, yanking him against her back and wrapping his arms around her.

It took him a few second to realize she was sobbing, shaking like a leaf in his embrace.

“Buffy,” he choked out. “Buffy, luv, what’s wrong?” He held her tight.

“I missed you, you idiot. I missed you!” She let go of his hands and spun in his arms, hugging him tightly. “How?” she said. “How?”

“The amulet. It spit me out in Angel's office. I was a ghost for a long time. Couldn’t touch a bloody thing. Not even a phone to ring you.“

“Was everyone else there a ghost too? Why didn’t someone else call?” She sounded angry.

“I don’t know.”

“And then?” she prompted, stepping away from him and swiping at her cheeks.

He started to reach for her, not wanting even a foot of space between them, but forced his hand back down. It wasn’t his choice, he told himself. A hug for a lost friend returning out of the blue wasn’t a declaration of anything. Hell, she might have a boyfriend, or husband, both possibilities Spike had refused to consider at all during his rush to be at her side.

“And then I wasn’t a ghost any longer, no rhyme or reason to it. Happened a few months ago, but then you were there at Wolfram & Hart.”

“I…what?” Her brow furrowed.

“Or so I thought. You were happy, smiling, so in love with Angel. He told me you didn’t want to see me or talk to me. Though he just loved to find reasons to make me visit his office so I could see his hands all over you.”

“What?” she said again, her adorable nose wrinkling up.

“It was driving me barmy. I had to leave, but I needed to say goodbye first and to let you know–“ He looked as steadily as he could into her eyes. “To let you know I still loved you. That I would always love you.”

Her face crumpled and her body rocketed into him. She jumped into his arms, her legs locking around his waist. Her momentum knocked him back, and he stumbled until he felt a wall behind him. Her lips met his and her tongue delved deep into his mouth. She kissed like she’d been starved.

“But if it wasn’t me,” she gasped, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing herself up slightly. “Then who was it?”

“It was the damned bot. Knew for certain once I was in the same room as it.”

“Angel has the bot?” She looked less than thrilled. “Is he, uh, using it for its original purpose?”

“Yes, and to keep me thinking that you didn’t want me. It wasn’t until today the rest of his gang knew it wasn’t you, either.”

“Oh my god!” Her look of anger and indignation did a lot to heal his heart. It didn’t seem Angel was going to get a free pass on this one. He crashed his mouth back into hers, needing to feel her, real and alive, against him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and he had both hands on her ass, supporting her, but he was a little unsure exactly want she wanted from him, so he kept his fingers still. At least until she started wiggling, grinding her pussy against him, and moaning.

Bloody hell, he was harder than nails, his prick urgently pushing at the fly of his jeans. His demon was doing sodding backflips.

“Love you, too, Spike!” Buffy panted, and he froze. “Love you too. It’s hurt so much without you. Please, I need you!” She wiggled wantonly to emphasize what she meant. Spike was at a loss. If she’d ever wanted him like this again, he’d meant to do it properly, with candles, rose petals, and silk sheets. He’d make love to her like she deserved… “Now!” she cried and bit his earlobe.

Right, against the brick wall of an alley it was.

He spun them so her back was against the wall and pushed up her skirt. Her mouth found his again and their teeth clicked she was kissing him so excitedly. The taste of her…exquisite…

Under her skirt he ran a finger over her center, moaning into her mouth when he found the crotch of her panties soaked. He briefly explored beneath them, making her squirm and mewl as he petted her swollen clit, then ripped one side of her knickers and pulled them down her leg. She unwrapped it just long enough for him to slip her undies off. The leg hole was around his wrist and he simply tucked them, sight unseen, under the cuff of his duster. She locked her leg back around him and went after his pants.

Buffy’s hand eagerly undid his belt, snap, and slid his zip open. The feeling of her hot hand on his cock nearly undid him. He whimpered and thrust against her palm. He pushed her skirt up and she guided him to her slick opening.

“Oh, Buffy,” he murmured against her throat.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you so stupidly much. Never leave me again. Got it, you dumb vampire? Never!” She didn’t give him a chance to reply, just clenched her legs tight and forced his hips forwards so his cock slid entirely inside her.

He couldn’t make a noise. The feel of her was too perfect. His memory hadn’t done her justice. She was rolling her hips, her pussy squeezing his prick in the most delicious way.

“Oh!” She gasped and rocked faster. “Tell me. I’m going to…I need to hear it!”

His muddled mind took a few beats to figure out what she wanted. “I love you,” he murmured urgently against her lips. “I love you, Buffy!”

Her head cracked back against the stone wall, though she didn’t seem to notice, and her thighs quivered. Spike realized she was going to come. With a grunt, he began churning his hips, frantically pumping into her as she peaked with a cry.

She came again less than a minute later, her hands digging into his shoulders. He couldn’t last any longer and howled as his own climax hit. It felt like he hadn’t come for bloody years, the bliss painful in its intensity. His vision whited out and he was aware of nothing but the spurting of his cock inside Buffy’s hot pussy. Her channel quaked and spasmed and he realized she’d gotten off a third time.

Once he could see again, and form words, he lowered her to the ground. She clung to him and giggled.

“My legs don’t want to work.”

He felt like a god.

Remembering her knickers were around his wrist, he shook them down into his hand and held them up, meaning to say something teasing about how wet they’d been. Only Buffy’s eyes went comically wide and she made the cutest little ‘eep’.

He glanced at her panties and started to chuckle, then nearly doubled over laughing.

They were the ugliest things ever. At one time they must have been white but were now a dingy gray from repeated washings, and the yellow elastic was showing through the ratty hems.

“Stop it!” she said. Her face was a beautiful shade of glowing crimson. “I had no reason to believe anybody would be seeing my panties…and I sort of thought my…y’know…period might start and didn’t want to ruin a good pair.”

That got his attention? “Your period? Really?”

“Ew, Spike!” She swatted at him. “You haven’t even been back for an hour and you’re being gross?”

“It’s not gross. And I am flat out not letting you turn into Miss Priss over a little blood leaking out your vagina. Going to shag you and lick you right through it.”

She’d been unsuccessfully trying to grab her knickers out of his hand, but stopped. “Lick?” she said innocently, her breathy voice betraying that she might not mind so much.

“Every last drop,” he promised. She’d never let him near during her monthlies before, but he wasn’t going to play along with that. Not when he’d just found her. The very idea of her blood on his tongue had his racing south. He swore his vision was graying out at the edges. “See?” He pointed down at his renewed erection. “Got me all excited just thinking about it.”

“Please,” she said with an eye roll. “I can turn you on by brushing my teeth.”

He frowned. “Of course you can. You got something in your mouth that’s longer than it’s wide.”

She giggled. “We should probably go inside before we get a ticket for public indecency.”

“We should get a medal for showing people how it’s done! We’re performing a public service!”

She giggled again and he swore to himself he was going to do everything in his power to keep her making that noise. When he wasn’t making her scream his name, that was.  

He held up her ugly knickers again. “Do these go all the way up to your armpits?” he asked speculatively.

“Ack!” she gurgled and this time he let her snatch them away. Buffy ducked under his arm and took off running for her door. His demon immediately took over and rushed to the fore, giving Spike barely enough time to shove his erection into his pants–sort of–and pull his coat closed before he was trotting awkwardly after her.

In the foyer of the house, he slammed the door shut behind him, locked it, and turned to find Buffy with her skirt pooling around her ankles and her sweater coming off over her head.

A whimper left him at the sight of her standing naked before him.

“You too,” she said shyly.

He got his kit off in record time, not realizing until he pulled his t-shirt off that he was still wearing his ridges. “Sorry–“ he started to apologize, but she held up a hand.

“No. It’s perfect.” She walked forward and kissed him, fangs and all.  He was stunned. Before, having his demon showing would have earned him a broken nose, but…this wasn’t before.

Still looking a little bashful, Buffy stepped away from him and turned around before dropping to her hands and knees. She wiggled her ass at him and he didn’t need to be told twice. Immediately, he knelt behind her and rammed himself home.

Oh god, it was home. She was his home. His fingers dug into her hips.

He could hardly believe Buffy was letting him... his demon huffed. Told you so! It seemed to say.

_Right, you’re very smart._

Buffy was bucking her hips, her hand between her thighs to rub her clit. With his demon out, he couldn’t help but jackhammer into her. He probably should warn her he wasn’t going to last long like…

Her pussy clamped down and she came with a wail.

Nevermind, he wasn’t holding back.

The rug under them bunched up as he was pounding into her hard enough to scoot them across the floor. A table wobbled and toppled over. He didn’t care.

Buffy peaked again, his name on her lips.

It was beautiful.

His rhythm became jagged and he exploded, shouting her name to the rafters. Buffy. His girl.

When he came back down from orbit, he shook off his now satisfied demon, pulled out of her, and scooped her up, carrying her up the stairs to her room. He could tell which one it was from the scent.

The small bed was wrinkled and unmade, and he stripped off the quilt and top sheet before setting her down and crawling in behind her, spooning tight against her.

“You’re going to have to get some new sheets, kitten, these feel like sandpaper.”

“It hasn’t mattered, it’s just me who’s been sleeping on them.”

That was bloody terrific news. Spike slid his hand up and down her arm. “You deserve the best of everything, Buffy. Even sheets. And seriously–“ He shifted uncomfortably. “What’s the thread count on these? Five?”

She huffed. “I was sort of just getting by, emotionally speaking. Comfy sheets weren’t a priority.”

“Going to wrap you up in silk. Maybe in a month or so, though, when I can stop shagging you for more than ten consecutive minutes.”

She turned her head a little to look up at him. “You really won’t leave again? Like ever?”

“At this point, I don’t think I could go if you told me to.” He could hear it, her unspoken plea not to dust again, words she couldn’t even bring herself to give voice to. There was a lot they should talk about, but not at the moment. Right now, he still could barely contain the fizzy high of just being beside her. He kissed her ear and something on her nightstand–amid the half-drunk glasses of water, random earrings, and a thing of vanilla scented deodorant–caught his eye. He reached out and snagged a picture sitting there in a dilapidated frame. It was him, cigarette between his lips, and a tough look on his face. “This from that sodding video Andrew shot?”

“Yeah.” Buffy’s voice was small. “I didn’t have any pictures of you and Andrew caught me crying over that, so he made me some from the video.”

“Frame looks like it’s seen better days.”

“Um, well. I…really missed you.” She put a hand over her face and he set the picture down so he could lift her palm and peek under.

“And that explains the frame how?”

“I sleep holding the picture.”

Spike had figured the worst of the day’s rollercoaster of emotions had been over with, but instead the ground dropped out from under him. “Oh, luv,” he whispered, his voice breaking. She turned over so she was facing him and he couldn’t help the tears that flowed from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Buffy. I didn’t know, I couldn’t…I thought…”

“Shh,” she whispered, cupping his cheek and wiping at his tears with her thumb. “You’re right. You couldn’t have known different. And when my brain is slightly less scrambled, I’m going to call Angel to let him know exactly what I think of him.” She grimaced. “It’s not going to be pretty. You’re probably going to want to listen in.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “But that’s later. Right now, I just want to love you.” He kissed her, gently this time, and his hand went to her breast. The soft, warm, weight fit his palm just right. A new wave of tears hit. “I missed your tits,” he wept against the top of her head.

She made a muted noise and her hand trailed down his body, from his face to his neck, over his shoulder, side, and hip, until she grabbed his ass. “I missed all of you.” She let go of his rear and wormed her fingers between their bodies to grab his prick. She barely had to touch it before it was standing back up to attention. “But I might have been missing this part a whole lot.” She blushed, her pink cheeks charming.

Spike helped her hitch her leg up over his hip and she guided him back into her channel. There was the faintest scent of blood from her pussy, and Spike had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. This was quickly becoming a very close runner up for the best day of his life. Holding her and knowing she saw him as her solace would always be first.

His nostrils flared. Christ, he was going to feast on her until she blacked out from the pleasure.

“I was thinking,” he said, gently pumping into her as she sighed and moaned. “That perhaps you’d like to trade up on what you cuddle with while you’re getting some shut-eye.”

“Mmm, you did say I deserve the best.” She snuggled in close to him, her mouth against his throat.

“Buffy, I’m not–“

“Don’t be a dolt.” She fluttered her inner muscles in an entirely too-distracting way. “I’m never letting you go and you’re just going to have to deal with that. And to me, Spike, you are the best. My Champion.”

He couldn’t get close enough to her. His hand wrapped around the leg she had over him and hitched it up so he could thrust deeper inside her welcoming channel. “I didn’t dust, right? This is real?”

“Spike, this–“ She undulated her entire body against him, ending with the faintest nip at his neck. “Is very real.”


End file.
